I am not a renovator of a house, but a humble repairer, wise in duct tape, caulk, nails, spackle, wood filler—anything that will grease, cover, and glue to keep the structure together. While there are ample times of exasperation, there are emotions of satisfaction and cleverness as well.

Painting

The air’s too cool to paintneighbors recommend, but the brush dips and the blue thickensthe wood and alongwill set just as wellas paint applied in heat,and delayed in dryingI’ve got one more chanceto correct mistakesbefore the work is done.I paint the way my words have come to shape,and if I have no mild retortfor these advising friends,silence may prove the better part.The paint still dries upon the wall.

Floor Joist

The joist whines like a child’s complaintfrom the far back row of the schoolroom.

It is one more thing I don’t know--how to nurse a house that requires injections

of repair to save its life. So I walk, it squeaks,I jump, the joist persists like a joint

of the Tin Man needing oil from a can.I thump the floor with a fist, one spot

and then another, while keeping my legspositioned to one end of the whimpering board,

as if playing Twister by myself, and losing.My toes try to isolate the spot precise, an X

in the carpet above the specific nail that’s lost its head, as my wife has said, I am starting to do.

What Comfort There Is

Roof repairs fix one leak here, but like suppressing a giggle in a classroom another forms unseen.